


if i could start again

by TheHolyForceGhost



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Death, Heavy Angst, Multi, Music, Short, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 19:39:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8502805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHolyForceGhost/pseuds/TheHolyForceGhost
Summary: A short fic regarding loss and the tragedy it brings. Warning as it contains death and suicide. Not for the faint of heart. Written for RadicalEdward13.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RadicalEdward13 (PieZer0)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieZer0/gifts).



> I recommend listening to this song for the full feel of the story:
> 
> Hurt: Johnny Cash (2nd half of the story)
> 
> Enjoy! Comments are appreciated and welcomed!

One single moment. It takes only one moment for an entire world to come crashing down, but a lifetime to build it back up. As one of the newer faces in Overwatch, with experience under your belt, you know how crucial one moment is, how one moment can be the only line between life and death, between safety and a bullet to the brain. But this time, you know you have failed. The moment has come and gone, leaving only the deadly fallout in its wake.

You know you shouldn't have fallen for her. The little British speedster with the heart of gold and stamina of a rabbit. Why would she fall for you? The rumors even had it that she wasn't into people like that. And yet, you couldn't take her eyes off her. So when she finally cornered you one day with the same feelings pouring out of her, you concurred, and love began. But now is not the time for that. 

Your mind is gone. The only thing you ever used, were ever good with, vanished in a hiss and boom. You know not what has hit you, what has hit Watchpoint: Gibraltar, but every muscle in your body aches with a fury you have never felt. Dust and sweat layer your skin in a artwork of suffering. The plain black T-shirt you were wearing now hangs around your shoulders in tatters. Your world is ash. Grey and black dance across your vision in a hellish pastoral that you will never forget. _God in Heaven, what the hell happened?_ races through your head alongside another, one that grows louder and louder with every incessant beat of your heart: _Lena, where’s Lena, I have to find her right now._ And right on cue, like a poorly written school play, you sees her, the love of her life, trapped underneath what looks like a steel beam. Through the smoke, you can’t see anyone but her, the faint blue glow of the chronal accelerator pinpointing her exact location in the choking smoke.

You rush, no, shamble on aching legs over to where your partner, lover, friend lays, all else forgotten but her name on your lips. You crouch down next to her. For a brief moment, your most primal emotions return and terror seizes your mind.

_NoNoNoNoNoNoNoPleaseDon’tBeDeadGodPleaseDon’tBEDEAD_

A cough. The terror evaporates like mist. Lena blinks once, twice, and twists her head ever so slightly to face you.

“Hey luv” she rasps. You sigh out of sheer relief until you glance down at Lena’s lower half.  A lump rises in your throat at the sight of a metal beam jutting out of her stomach.

“Hey to you too” You almost choke on the words.

“I don’t-- I don’t think I can feel my legs. Why can’t I f-feel them?” Her voice cracks. You feel something within you crack as well.

“I don’t know” Lena coughs again and _fucking hell_ there’s blood on her chin, her face, everywhere. The rational part of your brain wonders if you could move her, help her but you stop that idea before it can even take root.

“Can you hold me? P-Please?” she sputters. You gently lift Lena’s head and cradle it between your arm and knee.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this” you whisper, thinking of what was still ahead, all the years left to travel, the undeniable fact that you are never going to feel her hands upon your face, the caresses upon your thigh, the little kisses in the dead of night, just the two of you with no world to answer to, only you and her.

“I know, luv. I know.” She tenses up. “I’m scared. I’m so s-scared.” You have no reply to this, only that you start stroking Lena’s hair gently.

“I’m so sorry. God,I’m sorry.”

Lena softly smirks. “Maybe… maybe it... will... be okay...”

You look her in the eyes, those beautiful brown eyes that you love so much as they glaze over. "Lena?"

No response.

“Lena?!”

Nothing.

 

* * *

 

A few snapshots taken from the systematic dismantling of a life. Your life, to be exact:

 

_I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel_

The funeral. You help carry the coffin in your nicest uniform, standing alongside you have served with, friends and family, the whole fucking world, watching as the pine box filled with your heart and soul is lowered six feet into the ground. You tell yourself that you will not cry, that soldiers are tough and shed no tears. You do so anyways.

_I focus on the pain, the only thing that’s real_

Fast forward to the wake. Standing all alone, surrounded by those you call friends, you never feel more alone. Someone plays Louis Armstrong’s “We Have All The Time In The World.” You break down right there in front of the punch table, tears spilling into your cup. Winston, the talking gorilla, puts a shaggy arm around your shoulders. She shrug him off.

_The needle tears a hole, the old familiar sting_

Fast forward to a night alone in a temporary room. The base is being repaired from what Winston thinks was an Talon airstrike. You lie awake in bed. Sleep has abandoned you. All you can see is her in your dreams, taunting you, pleading with you to come to her. You are not seen at breakfast the next morning. Reinhardt finds you curled in the fetal position, a picture of Lena and you clutched tight in your arms. You refuse food for another day before you finally are forced to eat.

_Try to kill it all away, but I remember everything_

Fast forward to a day spent washing down sorrows in a bottle of whiskey. The rational part of your mind urges you to stop drinking, stop moping, get out there, you're a soldier, you can weather this. You tell the rational part of your mind to go to hell and take another swig. Your communicator flashes **36 NEW MESSAGES** , most of them from Winston, asking where you are, if you are okay. You shut it off, also telling it to go to hell.

_What have I become? My sweetest friend_

_Everyone I know goes away in the end_

Fast forward to a day where Winston hands you a paper slip with a comm number written on it. He tells you that he’s worried, hell, they’re all worried, and that you should get some help. You take it from him, smiling bright, assuring that you're fine now, you will call. You tear up the paper the moment your out of his sight.

_And you could have it all, my empire of dirt_

_I will let you down, I will make you hurt_

Fast forward to a night spent in a hotel room, surrounded by cheap booze and cigarette butts. The soldier is gone now, replaced with a ghost. You hold a silenced pistol in one hand, debating if you should use it. You remember her face, her smile, her laugh, her love and decide that yes, this is the moment, the one moment of fate. You place the pistol underneath your jaw, pointing upwards. You close your eyes

_If I could start again, a million miles away_

_I would keep myself, I would find a way_

and pull the trigger.


End file.
